


Devil Town

by trvshmouth



Category: The Turning (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boarding School, Boys Being Boys, Boys In Love, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Slow Burn, Teenage Drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:41:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 4,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22754167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trvshmouth/pseuds/trvshmouth
Summary: Miles Fairchild returns to school after a traumatising summer he wishes to forget, and takes a keen interest in his new roommate.(An AU created by my friend Annie and I)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23





	1. Prologue

On a foggy morning in early September, Miles woke with a start. The thick air made him choke and gasp until he felt light headed. After a few moments he grounded himself and looked around his room. Same guitar, same drum set, same spider cage looking down at him. 

_I'm Miles Fairchild. I'm 16 years old I'm leaving this house that I've been trapped in all summer today._

His breathing returned to normal and he looked over to his door, where a suitcase and a neat pile of schoolbooks sat. The lovely Miss Jessel must've done that for him, the poor lady. Miles felt terrible for the Governess. Quint tortured her worse than he'd tormented Miles himself. Miles had seen, and he wished that he could do something about it, he really did, but he felt paralysed every time something like that occurred; to the point where he couldn't even speak. He could only watch. It felt like he was watching a grotesque horror movie on repeat, terrifying indeed. Even when he wasn't seeing it, he'd hear. The helpless screams became all too familiar to him.

Miles blinked and looked down at his hands, he was trembling and he felt tears slipping down his flushed cheeks.

He was leaving today.


	2. Leaving

Miles left his room distraught and angry. He walked the vast hallways and staircases down to the kitchen; refusing to make eye contact with his oil painted ancestors that were so sternly looking upon him from their fixed positions on the wall. His feet padded carelessly on the threadbare carpet, and then the tiles of the empty kitchen. Hastily, he grabbed a few apples from the fruitbowl on the counter and buried them deep in his blazer pocket. He shoved on his polished boots and slipped out of the glass kitchen doors silently.

The cold morning air hit him all at once and his eyes welled with tears from the breeze. He sniffed, quickly making his way to the yard in an attempt to clear his mind. The damp grass crunched underneath him, and he thought that he heard someone whispering to him in the wind. His hasty walk turned into a jog, and then a sprint, to his beloved horses. The only ones who would listen to him, the only ones in these grounds that he'd miss; apart from Flora. Of course he loved his sister, but it was hard to converse with a 10 year old when Miles was so much older. She didn't understand.

His thoughts left him as he reached the stables. Letting out a sigh, Miles heard a winny from his friesian, his beautiful black horse, standing at 16 hands tall. Miles smiled, genuinely, and took the apple out of his pocket.

'Nice to see you too,' Miles said under his breath. He took a bite himself before feeding the apple to the stallion, and walked off to get a bridle. He wanted to have one last ride before going to school; he wouldn't see this horse for months after leaving. Aware of the lack of time he had, Miles led the friesian out of the stable and stood on a log. He'd only put on the bridle and swung his leg over the horse's back, deciding to just ride without a saddle. A rush of adrenaline went through him as he mounted, and suddenly a need to let out his anger had returned. He leant forward and dug his heels into the ribs of his horse with a newfound determination.

The stallion jumped up and rushed forward, galloping immediately through the eerie grounds. Miles kicked sharply again, harsher this time, faster, faster; he wanted so badly to leave this place behind. Now he heard the voice again: Quint was whispering to him, it was his voice in the wind, 'more leg, more leg! let him know who's in control!' Miles held his breath and hoped he would go away, ignore that son of a bitch, forget him. Tears were streaming down his face now, his nose was running. The wind lashed mercilessly at his skin until it was numb and tingly all over. He opened his left reign, right leg, turning sharply to the maze.

Dispite his efforts, Quint was still there, still tormenting him. He couldn't lose him; no matter how many times he twisted through the blur of dark leaves, the phantom was there and he felt helpless, but pushed on still. He galloped around the koi pond and thought to himself, _fuck it, I'm leaving._ He glanced up at the mansion in front of him as he ran out of the maze, and it casted a dark shadow upon him. The way it loomed over him made him nauseous and he leant back, yanking on the reigns for a sudden halt. He glared at the house with such horror, with such resentment, that he had to turn away or else he'd pass out.

'Why have you stopped Miles? Everything too much? Pathetic. You'll never be a good rider if you dont take control.'

There was Quint again, the wind seemed to howl as if it was distantly laughing at him. Miles wanted to scream. He wiped his nose with his sleeve and looked at the gates to leave, which were now directly ahead. He thought about the freedom that was outside those rusted bars of iron. He needed to get out. He couldn't stay any longer, _this is how I'll get to school,_ he thought. He kicked so hard that he nearly fell when the horse started so quickly. The gates grew nearer by the second, nearly there, nearly there. A few more strides. Until the passing wind laughed at him again and everything went black.

Miles came around in the backseat of a car, his suitcase next to him on the other brown seat. It must've been hours later, because the sky had cleared up and his eyes were hurting from the brightness of the sun. He looked at the driver - a broad man with pale hair and tired brown eyes, behind thin framed glasses. He didn't recognise this man, and so he couldn't ask what had happened. In a sense that was good anyway; he wished to forget.

Green fields and forests passed in quiet roads until he fell asleep again, lulled by the rock of the car and the gentle hum of the engine easy in his ear. The next thing he knew was that he'd arrived at school.


	3. Oliver Wilson

Moving into the new room was a quick process. Miles had barely anything packed at all, just a few pairs of uniform and some normal clothes and pyjamas. He'd also snuck a photograph of his horses and another of Flora and himself, smiling widely at the camera. Now, looking at them, he smiled, and put them on his windowsill. His new roommate hadn't arrived yet, and the relief Miles had from leaving the grounds had left him physically and mentally drained. He sat on his bed, meaning to read; it was only about 7pm. However that didn't go to plan - he'd drifted off shortly after, and woke the next morning to the soft glow of sunshine through the windows and the sound of light chirps of birds outside. What a beautiful change to back home.

The shower was also on, Miles had realised. It must've been his roommate. A thought suddenly worried him, though; the first impressions this boy will get of him is that hes scruffy. He hadn't showered for a day and had rode yesterday, he probably stank and looked a mess. Just as he attempted to make himself look somewhat presentable, the bathroom door unlocked and his new roommate stepped out. Miles jumped up, spun around and stood up tall, his eyes wide.

However this boy was even taller than he was, with longer, dark brown hair that fell past his shoulders - it was wet. He was shirtless; his chest and cheeks were flushed from the heat of the shower and Miles felt so humiliated that he was sure he was just as red in the face. Furthermore, a towel, held loosely over the boys hips, left Miles feeling an unfamiliar way that made his stomach turn. He didn't even realise he was staring.

'Hello! I'm Oliver Wilson, and you're Miles?' His voice, soft and low, had a British accent. Miles forgot how to speak for a moment.

'I am. Nice to meet you,' Miles replied timidly, and Oliver reached out to shake his hand.

'Nice to meet you too! You must've been really tired yesterday - I arrived and you were asleep. I tried to be as quiet as I could, sorry if I woke you.' Oh, how nice this boy seemed to be. All his past roommates thought that he was a freak. He must've stank, why was Oliver so sweet to him?

'That's okay, you didn't.' Miles smiled slightly, looking up into this boy's bright blue eyes for a bit longer than he should've. What the fuck was going on?

'Oh, cool! Good. I'm going to get ready now - I have English Literature in twenty minutes,'

Miles didn't even know what he had. He got his timetable out of his suitcase and was surprised to see that he did as well.

'Me too.'

* * *

'The phrase "I give you an onion" is very symbolic, Miss,'

Miles was not particularly fond of poetry. However, this lesson was intriguing to him, as he listened intently to Oliver explaining the meaning of this certain poem that happened to strike his attention. He wasn't sure if it was the poem or the way Oliver explained it was what interested him, though.

'The onion represents all the layers and complexities of a relationship, and how love is a slow, rewarding process. Instead of a "red rose or a satin heart" the character wants their partner to realise that they are worth a lot more than that.' Oliver continued, speaking clear and confident to the class. Miles glanced over to him, his mouth slightly open and his eyebrows raised. How Oliver knew all of this, he did not know, but he really liked this poem. 

Miles looked back down at the poem and read over it again, mouthing the words as he read.

_Not a red rose or a satin heart._

_I give you an onion._   
_It is a moon wrapped in brown paper._   
_It promises light_   
_like the careful undressing of love._

_Here._   
_It will blind you with tears_   
_like a lover._   
_It will make your reflection_   
_a wobbling photo of grief._

_I am trying to be truthful._

_Not a cute card or a kissogram._

_I give you an onion._   
_Its fierce kiss will stay on your lips,_   
_possessive and faithful_   
_as we are,_   
_for as long as we are._

_Take it._   
_Its platinum loops shrink to a wedding ring,_   
_if you like._   
_Lethal._   
_Its scent will cling to your fingers,_   
_cling to your knife._


	4. Things That Make It Warm

Later in the evening, when the sun started to set and the sky turned a pretty hue of purple and gold, Miles sat on his bed and got to know Oliver. He found out that he was from Essex, a place in England just outside of London. 'Lots of green areas where I lived, there were. It was expensive, too! Half a million quid for a tiny house with three bedrooms. Absolutely ridiculous. Though I must admit, it was twenty minutes on the train one way and you're in central London. Twenty minutes the other way and you're in the countryside.'

That specific evening had an enchanting, warm glow to it. So much so, that the simple look of the honey-tinted room, unbeknownst to Miles, had etched itself in his minds eye; he'd end up remembering this moment for a long time. The way the orange shimmer of the setting sun illuminated the curves of Oliver's features were easy to get lost in looking at - that he had also remembered. His eyes sparkled as he spoke.

'It was nice to be so close to the forest - you know, lots of stables and all that. I used to ride a lot, I do miss that about England. Not so many places to ride around here.'

Miles looked up like a deer caught in headlights from his position on the bed - he'd been biting his nails and one of them had bled. He wiped his hand on his trousers dismissively and grinned.

'Hey, I ride too.' Miles said, standing up to get the picture of his horses by the window. He gave the picture to Oliver, who looked impressed.

'You do? Wow, them two are gorgeous, aren't they? I love the grey one.'

Miles' cheeks were burning and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself. He sat down next to Oliver on the bed and nodded. 'She was my mothers, I don't ride her though. You should come and see them one day, maybe in the summer-' Miles' words quickly died in his throat - Oliver's full attention on him had intimidated him and he looked down. His leg was bouncing up and down: a nervous tick of his. Maybe he'd said too much already. He wasn't used to talking about something he loved with someone who shared an interest with him, with someone who actually bothered to listen. In fact, he was sure he never really had anyone to speak to like that. The reaction he was met with from the offer suprised him greatly, though.

'I'd love that,' Oliver said, looking down at Miles and smiling sincerely. Shit, Oliver's eyes, scrunched up in delight and twinkling, were the prettiest things Miles had internally sworn to have ever seen. Pretty squiggly rings of blue and green - and was that a bit of brown too? Hazel? He wasn't sure, but the sunset's rays gave his eyes even more beautiful details to take in. They look like they'd been painted. 'So, aside from riding, what else do you like to do?' Oliver continued, giving the picture back to him.

Snapping out of it, taking the picture back quickly, Miles had the instinct to recoil from being suddenly quite so close to this boy - dispite them actually being not too close nor far. It was just friendly, he guessed. His lack of genuine social interactions with other people had left him flustered by the smallest of things, and that, he hated.

A moment of silence made Miles uneasy. He shifted around on his place on the bed. 'I play the guitar, and the drums. What about you?' He looked down. 'Are you an artist?' Miles asked, gesturing down to the few canvases and sketchbooks piled up next to Oliver's bed. In the dim light, they looked haloed and inviting, a visual _'look at me!'_

Oliver picked up one of the sketchbooks and smiled bashfully. 'I wouldn't call myself an artist,' he hesitated, before flicking through the pages. Miles was in awe. Pages upon pages of landscapes, portraits, life drawings, beautiful, carefully matched colour schemes. He wanted to keep the paintings all for himself. The more pages turned, the more of Oliver he could see - it was like a book of his life and his mind. He traced a gentle thumb over some of the paintings, and thought that maybe he'd rip a page out while Oliver was out one day, if he got the chance.

Oliver shut the sketchbook. 'Let me play the guitar for you some time,' Miles said abruptly as a demanding statement, rather than a suggestion. He hadn't got his guitar with him, but the music rooms were packed with them and easy to take. What he'd said meant a whole lot to Miles, he hated sharing his music. It was like sharing his soul. This boy he seemed to trust though. 'Maybe tomorrow? Meet me at the music department at the end of the day.'

Oliver said he would.

The sunset that had so delicately lit the room soon turned into a pretty starry night sky, with a full moon, and Miles felt happier than he had in a long time. His stomach felt tingly and weird when he went to sleep, which was odd, he ignored it nonetheless. The comfortable silence between Oliver and himself quickly sent him into a deep sleep, with dreams! He couldn't remember the last time his dreams weren't nightmares, but unfortunately in this one, he remembered not very much at all. It was bright though, and Oliver was there.


	5. Talk To Me

'So, how did you end up here?' Miles asked Oliver while tuning a dark blue Fender guitar, similar to the one he had back home. The boys were in one of the small practice music rooms, where Oliver had promised he'd come to hear Miles share a part of himself through his artistic form of expression: music. There was a battered, sad looking drumset in the corner of the room, and an amp next to it - Miles was sitting on it, his legs crossed with the guitar on his lap, picking away at the strings to get it in tune, which he managed to do by ear.

'My parents wanted a change of scenery, I guess, and houses are much cheaper out here, too.' Oliver explained, sitting on a chair opposite to where Miles was with an open sketchbook on his lap. It was much smaller than the one he'd shown Miles yesterday, and he tapped his pencil lightly on his thigh while watching the other boy pluck the strings and turn the tuning keys experimentally. He continued speaking.

'My mum works as head of HR or something, I don't even know what that is, and my dad, he's an architect. I don't know, not the best jobs I don't think, but they get by. Say, what are your parents like?' Oliver asked, looking up expectantly, to be met with Miles looking quite tense.

'My parents are dead.' He said blankly, continuing to tune his guitar, as if he'd just told Oliver what the weather was like outside. Plain and simple. Nothing else to it.

'Oh, I- wow. I'm so sorry about that.'

'It's okay,' Miles mumbled. He strummed the guitar and listened carefully, his brows furrowed in concentration. 'They died in a car accident. Anyway, the guitar is tuned now.' He said in a monotone voice, no emotion, leaning down to turn the volume up on the amplifier. As he did so, it made a horrific screaching noise and Oliver winced. Before he had any time to react, though, Miles had begun, maximum volume.

Violently he strummed the chords; E, B, A, repeat, repeat. His head lightly bobbed, his tight curls bouncing up and down, and his left foot tapped on beat. Oliver sat wide-eyed, holding onto his pencil tighter than he had been. Miles was mumbling lyrics, but getting even more violent with the strumming by the second. His head thrashed around as the song went on and he tapped his foot harder. He got lost in the sound and seemed to forget that anything else existed. This performance of his seemed to be fueled purely by anger.

_'I'm getting better otherwise,'_

Miles sung louder than a mumble this time, and it was the first comprehensible line of lyrics Oliver had heard of the entire song.

_'I'm getting better otherwise,'_

Even louder than before. Miles shut his eyes tight and strummed with everything he had, his foot wasn't even stomping on beat anymore.

_'I'm getting better otherwise!'_

He screamed it this time at the top of his lungs. Oliver was on the edge of his seat now, terrified but amazed. Miles went limp over the guitar as he finished the song, his chest was heaving up and down and his body trembled violently. Seconds later he looked up to Oliver and smiled, tears were streaming down his face and he wiped his red eyes with his sleeve. He turned the amp off and stood up with a sniff.

'Sorry for bothering you, you really didn't need to hear that. I'm going to leave.' He said, putting the guitar to rest by the wall and walking out. Oliver stood, unable to comprehend what had just occurred.

He followed Miles out and back to their room, where, once they both got in, Oliver shut the door behind them and grabbed Miles by the sleeve. Miles jumped and turned around, his eyes wide and his lips trembling. Oliver looked down at his firm grip and then back up at Miles' glassy eyes, gently letting go.

'Hey, please talk to me. What's going on?' Oliver asked, concerned was an understatement for what he felt, and thats when it happened. Miles broke down, falling into his chest brokenly sobbing. Oliver stood for a moment in shock before wrapping his arms around Miles, rubbing his back. This went on for a while. Oliver didn't speak a word; he let Miles cry.

'I'm sorry, this is pathetic - I've known you for a fucking day and look at me, what a little bitch,' He hiccupped. 'No one, no one has ever asked me what's wrong, no one gives a shit, no one has ever given a shit,' He cried out and leaned back, looking up at Oliver. 'And then you appear. Why do you care? Why are you so nice to me?'

Oliver managed to calm Miles down and sit him on his bed. 'It's human decency. I want to be nice to you. Whatever has happened to you, I'm here, and I'll listen. It doesn't matter if you don't want to talk about it. I'm still here. I'll be in this room the whole year. It doesn't matter if I've known you a day, you seem like a cool guy, Miles. I like you and I think we are going to be great friends.'

'Thank you, so much.'


	6. Fool

Weeks passed quickly and the boys had become pretty much inseperable. Neither of them were quite so sure why they had became so close, they were just a pair of lonely, kindred spirits, they supposed. It baffled Miles greatly as to why Oliver had no friends, to him, he was the sweetest and most talented person he'd ever met; confident, too. In a selfish way, though, Miles took pride in being the only one to truly know Oliver. He'd started using the nickname 'Ollie' for him; it was something he only ever whispered in the early hours of the morning during meaningful, drowsy conversations, when no one was awake to see or hear them but the moon peeking through the curtains. Miles had noticed Oliver's demeanour shift ever so slightly every time he used the name, and it made his chest feel light and warm.

The two of them coexisted perfectly, comfortably, as if they'd known eachother for a lot longer than they really had. Well, maybe they had, in a past life or something. Whatever it was, the connection between them was undeniably strong and clear to anyone around. Some evenings the two wouldn't exchange even a word, they didn't need to, Oliver would usually be painting and Miles would be reading, writing, or watching him paint.

However there was an unspoken something they both definitely knew about. A little bit of tension. Oliver had grown fond and maybe a little protective of Miles, always wanting him to be safe and to be okay. Always thinking of him. If, in a class they shared, someone muttered about or gave Miles a weird glare that he'd seen, Oliver would sternly give them a warning look to back off, don't even think about it, or they'd be dealing with him. The only thing was that they shared very few classes together, and Miles wouldn't tell him if someone had been horrible to him. He didn't think that it mattered - but to Oliver, it most certainally did. He didn't want his good friend to be hurt and upset; he was hurting enough as it was.

Miles often thought about Oliver, too, maybe a little too much for his own good. He wished often to be safe in his arms, with no need to think about anything more. Only them. He found himself many times in class, blankly staring at the wall with his mouth hung open ever so slightly, daydreaming; laying on Oliver's bed with him, his head on his chest, Oliver running his fingers gently through his hair. Oliver pulling him even closer, Oliver- no. He couldn't think that. Why was he thinking that?

Ever since his little breakdown weeks before, when Oliver held him so close, Miles had craved it more than ever before. Even at a simple, accidental brush of their fingers while they walked next to eachother made his stomach turn and his cheeks to go a shade darker. He'd often thought about the first time he saw Oliver, and the feelings it gave him made him want to be sick. He was overwhelmed by something he did not want to admit. He could not admit it. He didn't- He didn't have feelings for this boy. Surely not? Even if he did, he knew Oliver would never feel the same, because that was weird.

He hoped these strange feelings would go away soon.


	7. Oh Sleep My Darling

It was a quiet Saturday night, nothing out of the ordinary. The boys were sleeping.

'Ollie,' Miles cried, jumping up in bed with tears flowing down his face. He was reaching around blindly in the darkness of the room for something to ground himself from the horrible nightmare he'd just had. 'He's here, he's here! He's gonna get me!' Miles shrieked between short breaths, and Oliver climbed out of his bed hastily to go and calm him down.

'Miles, I'm here, its me. No one else is here. You're safe,' Oliver whispered, holding Miles by the arms and looking him in the eyes with concern. Miles sobbed hysterically and his eyes looked wild with terror. Oliver wiped his tears with his thumb and pulled Miles into a tight embrace. 'It's only me. I'm here. Shhh,' He comforted soothingly, rubbing his hand up and down Miles' back.

'He tried to get me, Ollie, he almost got me,' Miles said, clinging back onto Oliver like a lost child. He supposed he could be considered one of those anyway.

'Who was it?' Oliver asked quietly. 'You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.'

'It doesn't matter,' Miles replied, burying his head deep into the crook of Oliver's neck with a sigh. He'd stopped crying. 'Will you just- can you lay here with me for a while? In case he comes back? Oliver had never heard Miles speak so timidly. How could he say no?

'Of course, come on,' Oliver replied, moving Miles over into the far end of his bed, the side by the wall, to make room for himself. They got comfortable and laid in silence side by side for a little while. Just as Oliver had felt himself drifting off, Miles had shifted much closer to him, wrapping his arms and a leg around his suddenly tense body. Oliver's heart was racing, but he mentally shrugged this off; he supposed that Miles was just asleep and unaware of what he was doing. Until, well, he wasn't.

'Thank you,' he whispered easy in Oliver's ear - he wasn't sure of what Miles was thankful for, but was happy to help nonetheless.

'It's okay,' he mumbled back after a moment of silence, but Miles continued.

'You make me feel like i belong somewhere, you make me feel wanted and safe,' He murmered, looking up at Oliver. Oliver looked down at him for a while, and then moved so that they were lying parallel but looking directly at eachother, Miles' leg and arm still draped over his body. Their faces were flushed and they both felt hot and anxious of where to go from here. This was new, and unspoken tensions arose once again.

'You do too,' Oliver said and smiled faintly, looking into Miles' now calm, tired eyes. He noticed Miles' gaze shifting ever so often, down - to his lips? He wasn't sure. He sighed and with a wave of butterflies he reached out to pull Miles closer by the hips with a low mumble of 'C'mere.' Miles hid his head into Olivers chest and smiled. Oliver held him close.

'I won't let him get to you.'


End file.
